


Hands Clean

by CodeGreen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brooklyn, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Smut, The Magicians - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-23 08:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13186149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodeGreen/pseuds/CodeGreen
Summary: "You wanna get out of here?" Draco's leg slid between Harry's. "That shirt looks terrible on you, to be honest. We really should get it off."The blood rushed to Harry's face. "You're not scared, if Ron comes home?"Draco shrugged. "Then we'll lock the bedroom door and order Chinese."-OR: Harry Potter tried to escape to NY. Unfortunately, so did Draco.





	1. Chapter 1

Crabbe was a sentient burnt marshmallow man.

Sure, work was a slog and Harry was pretty sure there was a rat in his bedroom wall. But the Crabbe issue was the most pressing.

He was still irritable. Still crass and dumb. Still, mostly, Crabbe. But he was also entirely made out of marshmallow now. Irreconcilably burned in the fire back at the Room of Requirement by his own foolish spell, the doctors had managed to save him. Hermione, actually, was most responsible for saving his life, preserving him in a cloud of tuft until he recovered enough to escape the chrysalis. Like a butterfly, emerging as something new, healed. 

Only, he never escaped his chrysalis. It adhered to him, the few living scraps left, and became him. He was technically, legally, a man. But he was a marshmallow. Fluffy and white, though the transformation had done nothing to make him sweeter.

In fact, he hated Harry even more after the accident. Not that Harry particularly cared, but when your boyfriend's roommate blames you for turning him into a rice krispie treat of a man, it makes things tricky. Last time Harry spent the night, Crabbe caught him sneaking out of the bathroom and yelled at him through the walls for hours. By the end of the night Draco had stupefied him and turned up the heat, content to let his roommate melt.

He didn't, though he did expand a little.

Still, Harry's roommate would do more than yell or slightly melt if he happened to see Draco. Ron would explode if he even knew Malfoy was in New York. And while Hermione wasn't technically a roommate, Harry feared her reaction could nuke the entirety of Brooklyn.

So they met at movies, wasting hours until Crabbe fell asleep and they could slink back into Draco's apartment. They met at bars, having one too many beers before Draco lost the inhibition to care if they were caught. They met at shows, idle hands grabbing at each other in a crowded concert until they were making out in dark alleys, the band long forgotten.

Harry pulled off his scarf and waited for his glasses to defog, eyes adjusting to dim light as the haze lifted from his lenses. He scanned the little wine bar, looking for familiar faces snuggled into the dark booths, irritated that the promise of anonymity in New York never materialized for him. His eyes swept the room. No Ron, no Hermione, no one from work. His gaze rested on a red leather booth, the room so dark it was hard to spot anything other than the familiar blond hair poking above the seat. 

A lone candle flickered on the table with his every exhale, but Draco's eyes lit up brighter as Harry squeezed in beside him. He pressed a kiss into Harry's temple.

"You're going to be so proud of me. Say you're proud of me." He set a half finished drink on the table and reached into his pocket, the fingers of his left hand intertwining with Harry's. 

"Ta-da!" He held up an iPhone.

"...I'm proud of you, Draco." Harry had been pushing Draco to embrace a few pieces of muggle technology. A phone was a huge step for a man who'd recently spent an entire night taking headphones in and out of his ears in wonder.

"You should be! These things are terrifying." He held the unprotected black rectangle out for Harry to inspect.

“And look, it's all programmed and everything. See? Ok." He spoke slowly, over articulating his words into the receiving end. "Call Harry."

The phone sprung to life, a photo of Harry with bed head and chopstick fangs illuminating his screen. 

"Heh? See? See?"

"I see Draco," Harry kissed his cheek, used his free hand to swipe the glass of bourbon from the table. "Stop calling me."

"I've heard that before," Draco tucked his phone into his pocket. 

Harry shook his head. "No. That wasn't calling. Those were owls. The people in my office thought I was running an aviary." 

"But it worked," Draco relaxed into the cushions behind him, still proud of his phone dialing abilities. "Speaking of, how's work?

Harry told Draco about Ilvermorny. Walked him through the campus tours and obnoxious donors his job forced him to woo. He fought this desire to check the door for wizards or witches from the UK who might recognize him, forced himself to focus on Draco and their tiny booth and their one determined red candle. 

Soon he was absorbed in it all. The chime of the door simply a gentle sound mixing with the low murmurs and high pitched laughs in the parlor. They ordered a bottle, he was soon through a second glass of red. Draco's hand was on his knee. He was smiling, a sight Harry still wasn't used to. His thin blonde mustache, a hip American affectation that Harry couldn't stand, was pulled upwards on both ends as Draco listened to Harry's story of helicopter parents and tiger moms.

"You told them no!" Draco tried not to choke on his drink as he laughed.

"Of course not! We never tell someone no if they're going to donate to the school," Harry tried to sound serious. "So I just told him that yes, I absolutely would lend the Resurrection Stone to top performing students, and pray now this guy's son is never a top performing student."

"You would never." Draco held his finger up to order another bottle. "Do you even still have it?"

"No!" Harry laughed, finished off his glass. "I used to keep it in a golden snitch but Ron found it. The bastard used it to, umm, visit with Lavender Brown. If you know what I mean."

"Yikes," Draco’s cheeks had turned rosey. His eyes caught on another table before pulling himself back to Harry. "And Granger found out?"

"Of course she did. And she was not happy." Harry let himself look at the booth beside them, suddenly remembering there was a world around them.

He was lean, tall. Dark hair trimmed short on the sides, and long and foppish on top, spilling over his pale forehead. Harry hated him instantly. He laughed with a friend in their booth, both of them tossing their heads back and laughing with abandon. Abandon was a luxury Harry had forgotten he couldn't afford with Draco.

"Who's he?" He tried to sound nonchalant, but his grip on Draco's hand tightened nonetheless.

Draco rolled his eyes, dropped his voice to a whisper. "Don't panic. I've got this."

"Draco?!" The man yelled, springing up from his booth. "Oh my God, what are you doing here?"

"Eliot, Margo. Hi." Draco stood, kissed Eliot on both cheeks and waved to the brunette woman who hadn't bothered to lift herself out of her booth.

"And - oh my god you're on a date," Eliot gushed. "I'm so sorry. You must be-"

"Dudley!" Draco yelled as Harry extended a weary hand. Eliot shook it, a live wire of excitement. "Ugh, Vernon Dudley."

"Yaasss, Dudley! Oh, Draco has told us so much about you." Eliot pushed his way into the booth beside Harry.

"He - oh, sure, have a seat. He has?" Harry smiled towards Draco. "What has he said?"

Eliot squirmed, pulled at the tie knotted against his throat. Margo leaned over in her booth.

"Nice job, dumbass!" She put a hand on the floor to steady herself and sat back up.

Draco's eyes were wide, visible even in the low lighting. "These are my coworkers! They were just leaving. Bye, Eliot!" 

Draco pointed towards the door. Eliot concentrated on standing, clearly a few drinks ahead of Draco and Harry. 

"Look," Eliot pushed off from the table. "I'm sorry if we ruined your date with our bombardment. You seem really..." he studied Harry and thought for a moment. "You look smart."

Draco massaged his temples. "Ok, nice seeing you!"

"You, too!" Eliot squealed. "And you. Dudley. Super nice meeting you. So glad Draco is finally out and about with the living. Life is for the living!" He flung his arms open to demonstrate. "And you seem alive, ya know. And last time he was just so hung up on that Harvey guy. You're great."

Margo climbed to her feet and pulled on Eliot's hand before he could continue. She winked at Harry, or at least that's what Harry thought she was trying to do, before she led Eliot out of the bar and into the night. A wobbly set of heels leading an uneven friend.

Draco had let go of Harry for the first time that night, both hands in his hair as he sat back down.

"I'm so sorry. They're coworkers. They're both," Draco looked around to be sure no one else was listening, "Brakebills wizards. They have no idea who you are."

"Ok." Harry reached his hand back across the table. "It's fine. It's... smart, really. That was fast thinking. Better safe than sorry.”

Half of Draco's face perked up into a smile, the other half couldn't bear it. He'd met a Vernon Dudley once. He much preferred the handsome face of the man in front of him tonight.

"You wanna get out of here?" Draco's leg slid between Harry's. "That shirt looks terrible on you. We really should get it off. And I'd kinda like see your place."

"Is that so?" The blood rushed to Harry's face. "You're not scared, if Ron comes home?"

Draco shrugged. "Then we'll lock the bedroom door and order Chinese. I want to spend the night with you. No Dudley or Harvey. No Eliot."

Harry's leg bounced under the table. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Draco motioned for the check before another bottle could make it to the table, a broad grin stretching across his face. 

They couldn't keep their hands off each other on the walk home. Draco's hand started on the small of Harry's back as they left the restaurant, made it into his back pocket by the end of the first block, and was squeezing Harry's cheeks before they made it to the Brooklyn Bridge. 

Harry wanted this. Needed this. And he'd never admit it out loud, but Draco's hands on his body were a form of comfort, of acceptance, that he couldn't seem to find anywhere else. He'd fled to New York to escape being seen, watched and recorded and whispered about. Now all he could think about was the way Draco looked at him when they were together, bodies slick with sweat and foreheads pressed together, eyes half closed but somehow seeing all of him.

Harry mumbled it. Draco didn't even hear the spell, just Harry's laugh and a sudden friction, intense and hot. A hard grunt pushed out of Draco's throat.

"Petrificus partialus." Harry grinned and pushed his wand back into his shirt sleeve. Draco's cock felt like it could punch through his jeans.

"Wow," he tried to discreetly readjust himself with his free hand, thankful it was too dark for passersby to see the rigid outline in his pants. "Little warning next time?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Touché." Draco squeezed Harry's ass for emphasis, kissed him on the cheek and stared down at his tight jeans. "You're going to have to fix this, you know."

"Looking forward to it."

Draco bit at Harry's ear. They picked up their pace, fingers roving and hearts pumping. Harry's mind had fixated on Draco entirely, he forgot to tense up when strangers walked by, didn't even reach for his wand if someone on the street had a camera or looked at him for more than a moment. 

They ran up the stairwell, stumbling towards Harry's room, hands fumbling with zippers. Harry all but kicked the door open, barely finding the light switch before tumbling into bed. 

Accio condom. The last one in the box. Harry rolled it on to Draco with one fluid motion and planted a kiss on his hip bone. Their hands were intertwined, Harry on his back and legs wrapped around Draco's waist. He whispered something, voice raspy and breath hot on Harry's neck and Harry couldn't totally make it out but pressed his lips into Draco's hair and clenched his fingers tighter. His toes curled, breath exhaling slowly as he felt Draco press into him. Sink into him. Inch by inch until they were the same man. Harry's cock leaked against his own stomach, Draco's lithe frame adding extra friction against him.

"You're beautiful," Draco pushed his lips into Harry's. "So so beautiful."

Harry hushed him, their lips overlapping. He pulled at Draco's shoulders, wrapping around him, pulling him deeper. Their hips rocked. The groan that kept tearing itself from Harry's throat only making Draco's desire burn brighter. He thrust harder, buried inside Harry, loose strands of hair clinging to his forehead. He needed to hear that groan, over and over, needed to feel Harry lose control. They were lost in each other, iron grips tearing at sheets when Harry first heard it.

He felt the difference immediately, the electric drag of Draco's skin against his own. Draco tossed his head back, body too close to overload.

"Hold it," Harry's breath heaved. He put both hands on Draco's chest. "It broke."

"Are you sure?" Draco pushed his hips into Harry, enthralled at the feeling between them.

"Yes, I'm sure." Harry tried to hide the pleasure in his voice. Pre-cum slicked their stomachs.

"No," Draco buried his face into the nape of Harry's neck. "Are you sure you want me to stop?"

The twitch of Harry's cock gave him away before he could answer.

Draco bit at Harry's ear, voice a low whisper. "Trust me."

Harry's whimper was muffled by Draco's lips, their kiss urgent and intimate as he tossed the scraps of rubber aside and pushed back inside. Harry's hips pushed back, eager to feel Draco again. Any part of his brain that could tell him this was a bad idea had long ago been short circuited by lust. He wanted this moment, finally so connected to someone, Draco's arms wrapped around him and his body wrapped around Draco. 

It was the way Draco looked at him. The way he kissed and stroked and sighed and thrust and moaned that Harry loved. The way he made Harry feel like he was alive, a singular electric nerve, raw to the touch. Draco's hips sped up, his motion less steady and more wild. Harry couldn't take much more.

"I'm going-"

"Me, too," Draco pressed his lips against him harder, clutched Harry's legs over his shoulder. His hand strayed, knocking over something on the bed stand. Harry felt Draco grow inside him, even thicker and harder than before. It was all he could take. The tight skin of Draco's stomach forcing him to burst.

"Protego duo!" Draco yelled, barely getting the words out before collapsing onto the bed. Harry felt Draco quake inside him but nothing more, unsure how exactly the spell had worked.

"That was," Harry's chest heaved, lifting Draco's head up and down as his lungs pumped. "That was-"

"Really fucking hot," Draco struggled to form the words.

"Smart," Harry finished. "That was really smart."

Draco rolled onto his back, reluctant to pull himself out of the warmth of Harry's body. He laughed, looking at the invisible condom the spell had created. He plucked a towel off the floor, having knocked it from Harry's bed stand in a rush to grab his wand earlier.

"How," Harry's breath lungs labored to keep up with his curiosity, "did you know that would work?"

"I didn't," Draco laughed, slung an arm over Harry's chest and kissed his shoulder. "How'd you know you could trust me?"

Harry stared at the ceiling. He'd made a rash decision, hormones and the slick feeling of Draco's skin crashing down on him had clouded his judgement.

"I didn't." He admitted it to himself as he said it, "But now I know I can."

"Which one of you is this - Harry? Or Dudley?"

"Harry," he ran a hand over Draco's back. "Unlucky for you, yeah?"

"Nah," Draco's eyes were closed, his voice growing softer. "You're the one I'm after."

-

Harry had heard it earlier. Scuttling around in the wall shared between his and Ron's rooms. It was definitely too loud to be a mouse, it had to be a rat. He couldn't be bothered to care about it, though, entirely enthralled with Draco when they returned home and then immediately drifting off to sleep.

What woke him was the sound of Ron yelling through the wall, and Draco screaming beside him in bed.

"Avada kedavra!" A shimmer of green shook Harry's wall.

Draco bolted upright. Harry couldn't make out what he was yelling. It was unintelligible. His eyes were wild and he clawed at the covers for his wand.

Ron yelled it again, another green blast absorbed by the wall.

Harry wrapped both his arms around a flailing Draco, hoping his tight embrace and warm skin could bring him back to the moment.

"It's the rat. Draco, shhh," Harry rocked back and forth. "He's trying to kill the rat. You're ok. It's the rat."

Draco nodded, tried to calm himself down. He clutched Harry and rocked back and forth with him. "Yeah. I'm fine. Sorry."

"No, it's okay. Ron is a fucking idiot." Harry waited a minute, holding fast to Draco until he was sure the man had calmed down.

"I'll be right back."

Harry grabbed a pair of pants and unlocked the bedroom door. His voice was barely muffled by the wall.

"Oh, hey," Ron sounded surprised. "Didn't know you were home until I heard you screaming."

"Because you were shooting fucking killing curses at my wall! Ron, no avadas! Come on."

Their voices grew quieter. Draco was thankful Ron wasn't observant enough to know his yelling sounded nothing like Harry's. Now he understood what it must have felt like for Harry as he tried to doze off in Draco's apartment, what was left of Crabbe silently seething in the next room over.

Harry's voice picked up again, irritated. "Then we'll lay some poison out like regular people!"

"I can get it," Ron argued. 

"Let it be! Jesus, Ron. It's a rat."

"Exactly. Just-" Ron's voice stopped short, he was rummaging for something. "Accio rat!"

And there was Draco, staring Ron in the face. The rat came flying through the wall, pulling the dry wall out of both sides of the thin separation between their bedrooms. The hole was just big enough for Ron's entire head to fit through.

Ron's eyes were the size of beach balls. Draco yanked a blanket over his legs.

Harry lunged forward. "Expelliarmus!"

Ron's wand ricocheted out of his hand, spinning through the air and through the hole in their wall, landing beside Draco.

"I can explain," Harry's voice was alarmingly steady. "But you _can't_ tell Hermione."


	2. Chapter 2

The morning light found its way through Harry's blinds, determined to wake him whether he liked it or not. Maybe trying to warn him.

He threw an arm over his eyes, the bare skin of his forearm warm after a night under heavy covers. He tried to roll over and bury himself inside a pillow before admitting defeat. It was too late. His other senses began to wake up. His body felt too hot under the covers, the air smelled of eggs, and the low murmur of conversation mixed with the ding of forks hitting plates.

He found the motivation to push himself out of bed, pulse pounding. It was Draco's voice. He was there, eating with Ron. Harry scrambled to find a pair of pants.

He struggled pulling a t-shirt over his head, sleeves avoiding his arms as if they were playing a game with him. He reached for the door knob but stopped short, the sound of Draco's laugh throwing him off. Harry pressed his ear to his own bedroom door.

Forks squeaked against cheap plates. He heard it again, Draco's chuckle bubbling up. Harry was relieved Ron hadn't lit them both on fire when he'd first caught Draco in Harry's bed. Now he struggled to wrap his head around their unlikely friendship, the idea of the two men getting along somehow unsettling him. The occasional owls Draco received in their apartment, the extra toothbrush he sometimes left on the sink, never seemed to bother Ron.

They ate breakfast in his kitchen, laughed like they hadn't been on opposite sides of a genocidal war. Pass the salt. Sorry about trying to murder you at your own brother's wedding. These eggs are delicious. No hard feelings about wanting to let you burn to death at school. Are we out of orange juice?

The smile crept across Harry's face as he listened, body pressed against the door as his best friend solicited advice from his boyfriend. Boyfriend? Harry's heart sped up at the thought of Draco simply being a part of his life, in public, like every other relationship.

Draco soaked up a puddle of yolk with his bread. "I'm telling you, once you get it right. She will think you're a god."

Ron chewed, slacked jawed. "You're kidding. Alohomora? The unlocking spell?"

Draco grinned. "Think of it more as an _opening_ spell. You know what I mean?"

"Really?" Ron's jittery leg rattled the table. "You've done it? With Harry?"

"Do you remember in September when he couldn't walk quite right?"

"He told us his taxi got rear ended!" Ron slapped the table.

"Half true." Draco tried to hide his blush behind a cup of tea.

Harry flung his bedroom door open. "Ok! That's more than enough of that!"

His face was a deep red. He tried to act nonchalant as he approached the table. Draco pawed at him, craning upwards for a kiss. Harry delivered a self-conscious peck before immediately reaching for the kettle, eyes darting to his left to catch Ron's reaction. He'd expected a flinch, an eye roll maybe, but instead watched as Ron dug into a grapefruit with the focus of a neurosurgeon.

"Can you not," Harry searched the table for sugar, too embarrassed to look directly at Draco, "talk about that. With him. Please. He doesn't need the ammunition."

"But I could use the tips!" Ron looked up from his grapefruit.

Harry was fairly certain that if Ron tried that spell on Hermione she'd end up with hip dysplasia. He settled down next to Draco, tea cradled in both hands.

Ron chomped on his food, he'd already forgotten what exactly Harry was talking about. "Have you seen the score of the Tottenham match?"

"Ugh," Draco's fork clattered against his plate. "You would be a Tottenham fan, wouldn't you."

"Damn right. And you're for, who, Manchester? Ten colossal assholes and a keeper, if you ask me."

Harry sipped his tea and leaned back into his chair. Might as well get used to it. If football arguments at breakfast were the price to pay for the two of them getting along, he was happy to let them slug it out. And maybe brainstorm a few meals that could be finished without any knives laying on the table. More grapefruit was probably a good idea.

-

"What do you think? Would my mum wear this?" Draco covered his black and white t-shirt with a ridiculously plush bathrobe, so heavy the hangar bowed.

Harry considered it for a moment, a gigantic wide-brimmed hat bobbling on his head as he thought. One of the store clerks brushed by him, unamused with Harry’s handling of the merchandise.

"I don't know. Hermione says to never get a woman clothes. She says 'style is personal' unquote." Harry facetiously pointed to his hat. "Obviously."

"Speaking of Granger," Draco pointed to the store's entrance. Ron struggled out of a long scarf as Hermione wiped her boots on a soaked welcome mat.

Harry spotted them and dashed behind a clothes rack, a garish purple hat wedged into a display of blouses. He watched in horror as Ron found Draco, waving enthusiastically from the doorway. Hermione looked up from her boots, her eyes following Ron's wave. Draco lifted his hand in a soft hello.

They couldn't hear what she said, but the way Ron's eyes bugged told them plenty. She lifted her purse, delivered two heavy blows to Ron's gut, and stomped back into the street.

-

Harry threw his coat on the couch and paced around the living room. That was not an accident. It was the third time in two weeks that Hermione happened to turn up wherever he went. She was his best friend, and obviously her relationship with Ron kept her at their apartment plenty of nights, but she'd started popping up in the strangest places. Places that used to be a safe zone for nights with Draco.

She was there last Friday, waiting alone at a table at Patrizi's when Harry walked in. He was so stunned to see her that he couldn't even think of a lie. He simply joined her and waited until she was in the bathroom to send an apologetic cancelation to Draco, who had spotted them in the window and simply turned around and went home.

She was there at The Dove. Wandering into the dark parlor with Ron, eyes taking long enough to adjust to the light that Harry had time to apparate, leaving Draco at a table by himself with two glasses of wine.

And then she was at Saks, somehow pulled into the same department store as Harry and Draco as they browsed for Christmas gifts. There's no way these could all have been accidents.

"Ron. It has to be Ron." Harry wandered around, eventually settling in his room.

Draco laid flat on Harry's bed. A tennis ball bobbed above the tip of his wand as he absently chased it with a levitation spell. 

"Babe, you're paranoid."

Harry had a dark lord in his head for ten years. He knew when the playing field was uneven. It had to be Ron. Too selfish to simply lie for Harry's sake, he was trying to get them caught.

"The little weasel is setting us up."

"Weasel... Weasley..." Draco let the tennis ball fall to the ground and sat up in bed. Harry glared at him. "I'm just saying, they must've come by the name somehow."

Draco reached for Harry's shirt and reeled him in towards the bed. Ron was clearly setting them up but Draco couldn't say it bothered him. They'd asked Ron to lie for them, and he was keeping his promise in the sloppiest way possible, by bashing Draco and Hermione together into every conceivable social situation. It was a radical act of friendship, Draco figured, and he wasn't about to stand in the way of it.

Plus, having Weasley on his side had certain benefits. He was a solid breakfast cook. He knew about his football. He was someone to play video games against when Harry was in the shower. And, despite the poorly mended hole between their rooms, he quickly made Harry feel comfortable inviting Draco over for the night. The access to Harry, to his room and his old souvenirs from England and the sheer luxury of rolling around in sheets that smelled like him, was new to Draco. It was a gift he reveled in, a gift Ron has granted. So what if he was a little Weasley?

No more sneaking down dark hallways at night or trying to distract Crabbe while ushering Harry out in the morning. Having Ron on his side meant splitting pizzas at night, long showers in the morning, and fully uninterrupted evenings with Harry in-between.

Draco parted his lips against Harry’s. Another great thing about Ron being in the know, he knew the right time to leave the apartment for a few hours.

"Is he here now?" Draco mumbled the words into Harry's mouth. "Then why don't we make the best of it?"

"Because," Harry wriggled out of his jacket, "I'm a stupid man."

"Hey, you're talking about my boyfriend." Draco bit at Harry's bottom lip, hands fumbling to pull open a button fly, both men too distracted to notice Draco's new label. Harry let out a heavy sigh at the feeling of Draco's fingers brushing against his jeans. They were done talking.

They barely managed to undo buttons, Draco was on his back without realizing it. Harry's body pressed against his own, jeans around his ankles already. Draco loved him like this, needy and urgent and entirely in the moment, a singular focus on each other they weren't permitted when trying to keep the noise down for Crabbe. In Harry's empty apartment there were no such restraints, and as Harry's lips wrapped around him an unrepentant moan tore out of his throat. It was all the encouragement Harry needed to swallow him whole.

Draco pulled at a handful of hair, writhing under Harry. He pulled him up, desperate to taste his lips again. Harry straddled Draco's narrow hips, the fresh slickness of his cock teasing him, closer to pushing into him, seeking him out. Harry pushed back, body moving without conscious thought.

Draco forced himself to stop, breath heaving and hips absolutely frozen. He could feel Harry ready to swallow him.

"Are you sure?"

Harry nodded, sliding his hips back before Draco had time to argue. Draco's excited gasp egging him on, making him bury the man deeper and deeper.

Harry rested his hands on Draco's chest and tried to start slow, too excited to actually do it. He pushed his hips forward, nearly disappointed at the loss of Draco's cock inside him before sliding back down, Draco's hips slapping against him. Harry only had one speed when riding and Draco wasn't about to ask him to slow down.

Harry had left Hogwarts, ran away to NY, because he couldn't bear to live a life with hundreds of eyes on him every second. He didn't want to be looked at. And then in New York he found himself taking long walks, disappearing into large crowds in Central Park, and ran into the one person in the world trying to disappear in the same spaces. Only now Draco looked at him differently. And somehow they began disappearing together, until they'd started seeing each other in entirely new ways. Now, with Draco pounding away at him, pliant and enraptured, consumed, their fingers intertwined, Harry again saw something new in his eyes. He wanted desperately to be looked at like that for the rest of his life.

"Harry," Draco barely choked out the sound. His eyes were heavy but he tapped Harry's hand with a sense of urgency. His body wasn't used to the contact, to feeling Harry against him bare, and he'd been driven to the brink already.

"Harry, babe. Get your wand. Babe!" Draco voice tried to warn Harry but his hips refused to stop, rocking into him harder and harder.

Harry's ears perked up. He arched his back, feeling Draco fully but distracted by a sound in the living room. Ron had come back.

"Shh shh," Harry pulled his hand from Draco's and put it over his lips. That's when he heard the high pitched voice above Ron's.

Hermione was in the living room.

"Babe I can't hold it!" Draco was desperate. "Your wand, Harry! Har-“

Harry wasn't sure exactly what spell it was, he simply pointed his wand and watched as Draco's lips zipped themselves together. The shock of it did nothing to dull his pleasure and he bucked into Harry, hard, and felt himself pump everything he had. He was cumming in Harry, overpowered by the sensation of the man on top of him, and he pushed his hips up over and over to get deeper inside.

The feeling of it was too much for Harry, Draco's raw abandon and three slick pumps of his cock and he was over the edge himself, biting down on Draco's shoulder to keep himself quiet, the intense contractions of his hole milking the last from Draco.

They were a dazed mess, but they were a quiet one. Harry felt Draco's hands ghosting along his back, the blond still unable to speak but heaving deep breaths through his nose, too spent to care.

Harry could hear them through the door, not quite making out intelligible words as Ron clearly rifled through the cupboards and Hermione clanged a tea kettle. They were clearly in for the night. Harry and Draco would have to apparate out.

Harry groaned at the feeling of Draco slipping out of him, the loss of him. He pressed his lips against the other man's cheek.

They stood up slowly, the world swimming in Draco's vision. He staggered for a moment before tumbling over, falling into the wall with his black pants still around his ankles. Draco slid down to the wall. He tried to offer an apology to Harry but only forced out mumbles through his half dissolved zippers.

Draco pointed to Harry's shirt just as they heard the knock.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice was called from the other side of the door. "Harry, are you here? Are you ok?"

"Yes! I'm fine." He hopped into a pair of pants, suddenly aware of Draco's cum still wet between his legs. He didn't have time to worry about it. He threw on a shirt and opened his bedroom door, a bright sliver of light piercing their refuge. Draco rolled under the bed, his hair still poking out near the headboard.

"What?" Harry couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice.

"What was that sound?" Hermione tried to look over his shoulder, Harry pressed himself as close to the door as possible. "Are you in there alone?"

"Yes. Hermione, I'm fine."

"Of course you are, that's not what I asked."

"Isn't it?"

"No," she rolled her eyes. "Harry, I know... I know someone is in there. I heard someone fall."

"That was me." He shook his head back and forth. "I, um, took a tumble. I was... don't worry about it."

"Ok," Hermione nodded. She took in a deep breath, a step away from seething, though Harry couldn't seem to read her at all.

"Harry," her smile was weak. "I - well, we - we've missed you. For dinner, that is. You haven't been around the last few weeks and we missed you. If you're around later and want to come to dinner at my place, I'd love - we'd love - to have you. You can bring a guest, if you'd like."

"Ok," Harry furrowed his brow. "Are you alright?"

Hermione pushed hims with both hands, she was stronger than he remembered.

"What is wrong with you?!" she yelled. "Am I alright? No, Harry, I'm not! You cowardly little shit. Where did you get that shirt?"

Harry looked down at the black and white t-shirt over his torso. He'd accidentally thrown on Draco's shirt. Shit.

"Consignment shop." Harry hated himself.

He heard Draco rolling out from under the bed. The jig was up.

"Consignment shop?" Hermione's eyes threatened to pop out of her head. "My god, Harry. Why won't you just-"

He couldn't hear exactly what she said. He just thought about having to explain to her that he was secretly hiding a Malfoy in his room. That he'd fallen in love with a man who'd tried to kill them, whose family carved a slur into her arm, and Harry couldn't bear the thought of betraying her. He had to think of a plan. He needed time.

"Babe," the sound startled Harry out of his thought. He hadn't seen Draco hike his pants up in the dark, hadn't heard him approach the door as Hermione yelled. Hadn't felt him grab Harry's hand until it was too late, until after Harry apparated.

The world unspooled and Harry found himself in Central Park, Draco's dark shirt still clinging to his frame. He'd run out on Hermione, he'd abandoned Draco.

But he was still holding his hand. Harry again looked down, his previously black and white shirt was now mostly red. He still held Draco's hand, but the rest of him had stayed in Brooklyn.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry once inflated his aunt and let her float around the neighborhood, rudderless and screaming. Years ago, he lied and told Ron he looked good in a sleeveless gym shirt. But splinching off Draco's hand was easily the meanest thing he'd done, even if he didn't mean to do it.

Nearly midnight, Harry found himself in Central Park, wearing Draco's shirt that was now stained dark red. He held Draco's left hand in his own and stared. It didn't look real. It didn't feel real. He blinked, tried to shake himself awake. All he managed to do was spray blood from the tendons trailing out of Draco's hand.

His stomach lurched. He clutched the lifeless chunk of Draco in one hand and his wand in the other. He had to go back. He needed Hermione's help.

The spoon connected with his forehead before the ground was even level.

"Harry Potter!" Hermione screamed, picked another spoon out of the drawer. "Whose severed hand is that?"

Harry put three hands behind his back.

"It's nobody's. Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it?!" She flung another spoon, barely missing him and clanging against the kitchen sink. "Someone is going to bleed out and I'm not supposed to worry about it?"

"Draco!" Harry's confession burst out of his chest. "It's Draco's hand."

Hermione grabbed something else out of the drawer and threw it at him.

"I know it's bloody Draco. You daft idiot!" She was spluttering, reaching for anything not nailed to the ground to throw. "I've known for weeks. Why didn't you tell me?"

Harry dodged what definitely looked like a knife. 

"I thought you'd be mad."

"I am mad! Clearly." She pulled the drawer out of the cupboard completely and tipped it upside down, cheap Ikea silverware bouncing on the floor.

"I'm mad but I didn't want you to kill him!"

Harry panicked, ran to his bedroom door. He hadn't been in the park for more than 60 seconds.

Draco was flat on his back, bare chested and covered with blood. The pool on the floor nearly swallowed him. Ron had waded into it, sitting on the floor and uselessly holding a towel against his arm. Draco mumbled something unintelligible and Ron didn't hesitate to cast an Imperius Curse to keep him quiet.

"Guys!" Ron looked up to Harry in the doorway. "I'm glad we're being honest with each other again but he is losing a lot of blood. Just a reminder."

Harry looked to Hermione. He had no idea what to do. Ron had been splinched before and she'd fixed it somehow. Surely she could think of something again.

The horror on her face immediately gave him an answer. She'd forgotten about the anger she had for Harry and instead looked entirely terrified, her care for life extending even to Draco. She fought tears.

Ron looked up at them. "By the living room, the closet. I've got a satchel full of... God knows what. We can fix him, right? Some Essence of Dittany?"

Ron tried to hide the panic in his voice. Draco rolled around on the floor lazily, entirely unaware that he was bleeding to death in an apartment in New York. Harry wanted to kiss him, to promise him it would be okay. To tell himself that loving Harry Potter wasn’t a death sentence for everyone.

"And how," Hermione's voice took on a dark edge, "did you just happen to stockpile Essence of Dittany all the way here?"

Ron clutched a towel harder onto Draco's stub of an arm.

"Are you really going to argue with me right now?"

Harry ran to the hallway, Hermione on his heels as they pulled coats off hooks and threw long forgotten umbrellas over their shoulders. Under the mass Harry and Hermione found a giant tote bag of bottles and potions Ron had built up. Harry dumped them on the floor.

"Careful!" Ron yelled from the bedroom. "They’re not all super legal."

Harry kicked a bottle of Living Death to the other side of the room. The bottle shattered and began dissolving a hole in the wall. He didn’t have time to berate Ron over yet another hole in their walls, his concern of their renter’s deposit plunging ever lower on his list of priorities as Draco weakly murmured in the bedroom.

"Where?!" Hermione emptied another duffel bag on the ground. "Where is anything we can help him with? All I see are half-brewed potions and succulent plants." She kicked the bag out of the way.

Ron looked up from Draco for the first time, worry written across his face. "No! They're not succulents!"

It was obvious before he'd finished talking, the soft green tendrils reaching out, entirely alive, and wrapping around her ankle. Hermione yelped, falling to the floor and kicking wildly as the tendrils climbed up her legs.

"Ron!" Panic seeped into Hermione’s voice. She surveyed the bottles on the ground beside her. Burn healing paste, Calming Drought, blood replenishing potion - before she realized the vine creeping up her legs was Devil's Snare.

"Ron!" The yell this time wasn't for help, aggression dripping from her lips. She flailed her legs and tried to shoot her gaze through the wall. Ron came running into the room at the sound of her panicked voice.

"You idiot!" She fought the vines traveling up her body. "Why the fucking hell do you have all these potions?" 

She rolled back and forth as if it could keep the tendrils of Devil's Snare currently winding around her legs from inching closer to her throat. The harder she fought the tighter the plant bound her. She switched tactics, laying flat and swearing under her breath. Breathe. Breathe. Try not to reach up and choke Ron. Breathe.

Harry tried to make sense of all of the potions scattered around the floor. There was no chance Ron could stockpile all these on his own, so far from home. Not without owls. Draco’s owl!

Harry has refused to come clean to Hermione, who had spent weeks pretending she didn’t know what was going on. Draco and Ron were done waiting for one of them to come to their senses. They’d worked together to force the confrontation, the potions on the ground all prepared in case things got out of hand.

Harry's realization danced across his face. The expression must have been enough to spook Ron, who shrugged at him and stared at the emptied bags of potions.

"We'd thought of everything," Ron said, voice cracking. "Burn salves, Calming Drought, Dittany. We just... I don't know what to do in these scenarios, this is when I would always call mom."

Harry dug through the bottles frantically.

"Well we can't all just call mom, can we?" Harry shook Draco's hand at Ron. Hermione kicked against the ground. Ron scanned the floor for anything useful.

"Hello?" 

A strange voice called out, tinny and distant. It came from the bedroom, but didn't match the low groan rumbling out of Draco.

It took a moment for the three friends to hear it again. 

"Hello? Darling?"

Harry ran back into the bedroom. He tried to keep his jaw wired shut as he saw the light of the cell phone shining from Draco's pocket. Draco's eyes fluttered.

"Mum? Whashedoing here?"

He tried to smile at the feeling of Harry reaching in his pocket, his mind still addled with Ron's curses. Harry pulled the phone out of his pocket. The face of Narcissa Malfoy greeted him, back lit by a vanity mirror.

"Draco, it's so early here it must be- Harry Potter?!" Narcissa's eyes bulged. She scrambled to pull her robe tighter to her body before leaning forward to take in the sight of Harry wearing a recognizable black and white t-shirt, now caked in blood.

"Mrs Malfoy," Harry tried to think of a way out of the scenario. "Hi. I, umm... Tunnel!"

Harry swiped his thumb to end the call, a trail of Draco's blood streaking the phone.

"Shit!" He threw the phone across his bedroom. "Shit shit shit!"

"S'okay," Draco tilted his head up, lips pail white. "Mum loves..." his sentence trailed off. He couldn't stay conscious much longer, clearly had no idea what was going on around him.

Hermione still fumed on the living room floor, body being consumed by Devil's Snare as Ron searched through the scattered bottles on the floor. A chocolate frog hopped through the carnage.

"Why did you think you'd need Devil's Snare?" Hermione tried to kick at Ron with bound legs.

"I'm sorry!" he yelled. "We'd just been collecting- I'm sorry!"

He watched in horror as the vines continued to crawl up her jeans. Harry ran back into the living room, even more red than before.

"Hermione, you need to calm down!" Harry tried to appeal to her reason, hoping it hadn't been eaten by the plant.

"I AM CALM!" The plant sprung forward, tendrils making it past her hips.

Ron shrugged. "Fine, die then."

"Alright!" Hermione audibly steadied her breath. "Alright, Hoooo. Alright. I'm calm. I am. I'm calm. I'm not at all about to kill you for orchestrating this entire nightmare."

"Fire!" Ron realized. "I can-" he drew his wand, about to cast something unholy.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry forgot he was holding his wand. Ron's arms flew upwards in self defense.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "No fire spells."

"That's what works!" Hermione struggled to speak through the tendrils crawling up her chest. "It's afraid of fire, Harry!"

"And calm. You have to stay calm down. I won't risk fire. Not after Crabbe,” Harry shook his head. “He’s alive. He's this... marshmallow thing. And I can't..." 

His eyes welled, not sure how best to move forward. It all seemed so overwhelming. So ridiculous. Crabbe was a human marshmallow. Harry was not-so-secretly dating Draco, who had just lost his hand. And Ron had gotten Hermione eaten by a house plant. 

Harry tried to clear his head.

"Hermione I can't lose you like that. Crabbe is barely alive. So bitter. I couldn't bear to.. No. No fire spells," Harry said.

Hermione looked down, chin frozen to her chest. The vines hadn't grown since she'd found her own breath.

"Harry," she said it slowly, testing the waters. "Why? Why did you think you couldn't tell me?"

Harry shrugged, stared at his own feet. They had wanted her dead. They'd fought to wipe her parents off the earth itself. How could she ever forgive them?

"How else could I have you both?" Harry said, watching the green limbs slowly fall away from her body. "I love you, Hermione. And I never planned it, but I'm falling... I'm falling in love with Malfoy. And I couldn't possibly choose."

Draco must've heard from the bedroom, his voice a croak into the living room, woozy and not entirely conscious.

"Oooh," he managed, delusional. "Oh, I love you, t-." His head fell back onto the ground with a plunk.

Ron ran from the living room into the bedroom, a clearly labeled bottle of Blood Replenishing Potion in his hand.

"Really, Harry?" Hermione stayed calm, the Devil's Snare wilting around her. "Do you love him?"

Harry nodded, still holding Draco's hand as it began to grey.

"I think so."

She shook herself free of the last carnivorous vestiges of the plant. The green wilted off her, bored of her relaxed state. She pushed herself up to her feet.

"Harry. Harry, if you love him. Please. Just give me a chance to learn to love him, too."

"You don't hate him?" Harry brushed Draco's detached hand against her shoulder.

"I didn't say that," she squeezed Harry's arm. "I said I can learn."

"Guys!" Ron again yelled from the bedroom. "Guys, I think I got him! He's back!"

They pushed into the bedroom, Hermione doing her best to appropriately ignore the bottle of lube kicked over next to Harry's night stand. Harry pressed Draco's hand to his wrist and waited as Hermione doused both in Essence of Dittany. Ron cast another Imperius Curse to keep Draco calm as the hand adhered back to his arm.

Even under the curse, Draco grit his teeth as his hand merged back on to his body. Harry watched with baited breath to see if his boyfriend would survive his accidental maiming. Hermione chanted some sort of good fortune enchantment. Ron simply held Draco's shoulders and waited.

"Is he," Ron said, "is he alright?"

"I'm alright," Draco wheezed. He coughed blood, wiped his chin with his left hand. He stopped then, to admire the existence of his left hand. He marveled at it, flexing his fingers before relaxing his head back into Ron's arms.

"Am I in trouble?" Draco asked, staring at the ceiling until Harry's mop of hair invaded his eye line.

"Yes," Harry said, his lips pressing against the horribly pail white of Draco's forehead. "I'm going to kill you in the morning. Right after we stop at the free clinic."

"Oh. Good." Draco sounded weak, barely aware of what he was saying. He offered a thumbs up with his more trustworthy right hand.

Hermione waved a hand over Draco's face, not confident he was stable enough to recognize her. "You remember me?"

"Granger," his eyes were unfocused, too feeble to meet her gaze, though his voice had a tinge of excitement.

"Hi, Draco," she said, her bangs falling over her face. "Do you feel alright?"

Draco shook his head.

"Granger," Draco said again. "You're here. So it worked?"

He wrapped a bloody hand around her, pulled her body closer to his. She embraced him, felt the young man tap the last of his strength in an attempt to hug her back.

"But you really are in trouble," she said, surprised to hear herself laugh. She looked at the men surrounding her.

"So is Ron," she tried to keep her eyes off the red head. "Now, go to sleep. And in the morning, call your mum, because I think she's going to be genuinely pissed."

Draco was too woozy to be confused. He patted her on the back.

"Mum's always pissed."

He closed his eyes, exhausted by the effort of raising his reattached hand. Harry, Hermione, and Ron knelt beside him. It’d worked.

Hermione didn't bother to say anything. She stood slowly and wandered out of Harry's room. The boys could hear her collapse onto Ron's bed. There was still plywood covering up the rat-hole in the wall, but the two rooms felt entirely inseparable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. This took a turn from what I'd originally thought but it's such a fun universe to try to write. Hope you enjoyed!


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